


On A Wire

by roxymissrose



Series: This Small Dark Place [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Gen, M/M, Whipping, violence against underage character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 18:17:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4532328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxymissrose/pseuds/roxymissrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the way Jensen becomes part of the Padalecki Estate<br/>Jensen is twelve and a half.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On A Wire

One late afternoon Jensen was ordered to the Mistress Padalecki's rooms. It wasn't unusual to be called there, he'd been to those rooms quite a few times, had had tea there a time or two, taken a lesson there…but never, ever without Jared, who was always the focus of those visits. Today, however, Jared was left behind, sleeping under the watchful eye of the roomgirl Bethany, while masterHouseboy pulled him briskly along, giving him dubious looks all the way.

Mistress was fiddling with the dials of an audiocon, turning it this way and that until a low, gentle voice intoned, "This is the private station of subscriber Patricia Padalecki." A muted rendition of _Rhapsody in Blue_ began spooling out in the air. Jensen recognized it as a great favorite of the old Master and it made him miss his mother….

Mistress Padalecki nodded once, briskly. She sat gracefully at a ladies writing desk. Jensen admired the delicate lines of the desk, inlaid in rosewood and ivory, the elegant picture she made sitting at it. Mistress Padalecki was rather tall for a woman, and dark, her glossy bob was a jet black helmet that set off sharp cheekbones and large, slightly tilted, hazel eyes perfectly. Jensen noted that young Master had those same eyes.

She wore a pale blue morning suit, very fashionable, very current—a popular style of Europa, something Jensen was well aware of from waiting on Master Patrick's visitors, who came from all lands, eager to spend time with him. Master had been a generous and enthusiastic host before he took ill.

The strains of _Rhapsody_ swelled in the background, Jensen fought moving to the rhythm of the music. He tilted slightly forward, a bare suggestion of movement that 'Houseboy caught, but thankfully Mistress didn't, and tried to concentrate his whole being on what the mistress said, even if it wasn't technically addressed to him.

'Houseboy, do tell this thrall that the nursery is off limits to the master." She went on to say that Jensen's cubby, a few steps down the hall from Jared's room, was also off limits to the master. She warned Jensen directly not to engage in conversation with the master. She said, "Master Padalecki is not allowed the privilege of this wing of the house. If you see him, your duty is to let the others know so that they may handle the situation expediently."

She leaned against her chair back and gave him a steady, appraising gaze. The buttons on the sleeve of her morning suit twinkled as she moved her hand from her mouth to stroke the hair that laid flat against her cheek. It was an unconscious movement, betraying that she was not at all as composed as she wanted to appear, though her gaze never drifted from Jensen's eyes. 

"You're not a fool," she said, her tone bland. "You know about some masters, do you not?"

He dropped his eyes, and she took that as a proper yes. "Well, thrall, you are the property of my _child._ Which means you attached to me—part of my personal estate—until he is of age. You have something like autonomy here in this wing of the house, within the walls of these rooms, because you are the sole property of my son. This means you may refuse—you _are_ to refuse—all touch. You are a companion only to my son, at least until he's of age to elect to sell you. Or whatever he decides to do with you." 

She stopped, her voice dropped to a nearly silent sigh. After a moment, she opened a box on her desk and removed a slim, red and gold cigarette. She lit it with a mother-of-pearl lighter and drew in a long, long breath. Jensen barely managed to avoid fidgeting while he waited what seemed a very long time for her to exhale. She did, a thin stream of grey smoke launched towards the ceiling, her chin tipped up but her eyes never leaving Jensen. 

"To one as young as you, your time here might seem to be ages long, but no. It will be quite short. Make it memorable, thrall, enjoy all your freedoms. I fear that no matter your age…you will be a temptation."

Jensen wasn't completely sure what Mistress meant…he had a slight idea though, and it tightened his stomach unpleasantly and made his skin burn.

Before the mistress could speak again, there was a knock at the door, a quick rat-tat and the door banged open to let Jared come flying in. "Jensem, Flapper quit again and you must fix it, now!"

Mistress gave Jared a fond look, and then trained her laser eyes on Jensen again. "My son is your only concern and with that you have my protection." 

Her gaze shifted to masterHouseboy. "After it has fixed whatever toy has ceased…once _again…_ to function," she emphasized, and cast a fond but exasperated look at a totally unrepentant Jared, "take it back to the kitchen—have it—" she stopped, made a face of concentrated effort. "Have _him_ learn how to cook for Jared. It's never too late. And, it would be a good skill for the thrall to have—to be able someday to offer something besides…" she glanced at Jared before continuing. _"That."_

Jensen knew what she meant, though in far more general terms then he guessed mistress thought he did. For some reason the freemen imagined all thrall, no matter what age, thought about sex constantly, and that bedthralls were doing what they longed to do. It was such a stupid thought, but of course that opinion was never voiced. 

After a few more minutes of Jared yanking increasingly harder on his sleeve, Mistress waved them off and Jared pulled Jensen back to his room like he had him on a leash. It was simultaneously cute and aggravating, but of course Jensen kept as bland a face as he could.

"Jen," Jared shouted as if Jensen were deaf and about five miles away. "You must fix Flapper, he broked again. I was just playing with him—"

"Jared, you know you can't throw Flapper like he's a ball. It shakes his gears loose—I've told you, you mustn't throw the clockworks. They just aren’t made for that."

Jared pouted, and tried to hit Jensen but he was used to it and read Jared's little body like a book. He moved smoothly out of the way of Jared's small fists. "Jared, no hitting, either. What if masterMaid saw you, hmm? And told your mam—mother? Mistress said you must not hit. 'If you're angry, use words not fists.' That's her rule, am I right?"

Jared looked up at him, eyes gone glassy with tears. He gave a shaky little nod and muttered, "Please don’t tell, Jensem."

Jensen smiled; Jared was too young to know he could have made it an order, not a request. He was too young to know his mother's rules about not hitting were meant for freemen, not thralls, but both masterHouseboy and masterMaid were willing not to correct him, if Jensen did not elaborate. Jared's pointy little fingers could be quite painful in the wrong places.

* * *

Days later, Master Padalecki came strolling into the garden where Jared played—the garden was one of those places Jensen knew Master was not allowed. When Master Padalecki scooped Jared up, swooping him around and around in the air, somehow Jared's alert bracelet came off and dropped to the ground; in the course of turning and dipping Jared up and down like an aeroplane, the thin bracelet was kicked far to the side of the path, right into the deep grass.

Jensen eyed the man discretely. This is the master whose property he was meant to be. The master looked at him, his thin mouth bent in a smile that made Jensen want to take a bath—many baths. There was something oily in his look and Jensen noted it didn't go away when he looked at his son. The master carried a wildly giggling Jared to one of the garden's benches to sit with him. He held Jared on his lap, whispering into his ear. 

While the master was occupied with Jared, Jensen quickly searched for and found the alert bracelet, whipped it out of the grass and immediately pressed the little button he knew would bring someone running. 

Within minutes, Mistress Padalecki, masterHouseboy, along with his assistant and a freeman butler were there, gently separating Jared and his father. The butler led Master Padalecki back to the path, who glared all the while at Jensen, who still had the bracelet in his hand. 

Mistress was the very picture of calm control as she took in the scene. She nodded, gestured towards Jensen. "masterHouseboy, have that thrall taken to the posts and locked in," she said. Then she turned gracefully to Master Padalecki. She said," It appears that you've suddenly taken quite ill, in fact, so ill you've taken to your bed…at the seashore estate. No, not mine—the one my dear father had built for you."

Master Padalecki protested, his face went red with anger and he pointed at Jensen, his finger shaking, he was that angry. "That little shit had already stolen the bracelet, before I came in the garden. He probably thought he could sell it—they're all stupid; what does he know—"

They were interrupted by the appearance of the masterMaid. She spoke quietly to Mistress, too quietly for Jensen to hear. He was too terrified to watch them, to glean out meaning from the way they held themselves, or from the look on their faces. He was about to undergo something that he had no direct experience of and it was taking all of his concentration not to cry, or to do something as fatally stupid as to bolt.

The 'Maid stepped back and Mistress held her hand up to Master with a sigh. "Enough—be quiet. My maid has let yours know to pack for an extended trip. And Gerolt… be very, very careful on the way; accidents at this time of year are so terribly common—rain on the high roads, wild animals in the valleys…bandits." Master went white, his lips even whiter as he pressed them tightly closed. He sketched the rudest impression of a bow to her and stomped away, the butler and assistant trailing closely after. 

When he left, she berated herself. She spoke, to the 'Maid, to Jensen…to the air. "I loved him because he paid attention and I thought I was unlovable. Now…well. He's Jared's father, and Jared will inherit the name and position. Maybe some day, the two of them can sit down together. But not now." 

The strong, level tone was back in her voice as she said," Give that one three stripes and have it confined to its—his own room. Do not let Jared in to visit him."

* * *

Jensen could barely move, terror turning his legs to stiff, shaky pegs. masterHouseboy gripped his arm tightly and marched him along, but Jensen got the odd sense that his grip was meant to be supportive. His large hand was warm, steady. Too quickly they were walking across a small, cobbled square. Four posts higher than Jensen's head were sunk into the square. Iron rings caught the sun, a pile of chains laid at the bottom of the poles. There was a tall thrall with dark skin and a fierce expression. There were the witnesses and the Recorder, scribbling away in a large book that rested on a tall pedestal at the far corner of the square.

Jensen stood, silent, watching the thrall near the posts hunt trough the chains, looking for cuffs that would fit Jensen's thin wrists. He found a pair, handed them to the tall, dark-skinned thrall. 

The masterHouseboy leaned over Jensen. His hands came down on his shoulders and he said, "Do not try to be quiet, boy. Do not try to be stoic; do not try to keep any sort of form. Shout, cry, scream all the way to the posts, fight if you like, as hard as you like. You will not win, but you won't be judged. This is something…" 'Houseboy went silent, his fingers dug painfully into Jensen's shoulders but Jensen leaned into the touch. It was a minute scrap of comfort. 

"Come on, then." 

His hands dropped off Jensen's shoulders, but one went to steady his back. Jensen couldn't find it in himself to scream and fight the way 'Houseboy gave permission to. 

The sun shuddered and danced, the ground under his feet slipped sideways and rocked with every step. The posts loomed over him, the smell of summer-hot wood and the acid bite of iron filled his nose. His shirt was removed, his wrists were locked into tiny cuffs and the chains were attached, fed through the nearest set of rings. The chains were locked down, his feet were secured, he was pulled tight against the post, the rough feel and pitchy scent of it clouding his world, his shoulders went hot from the rays of the sun… and then 'Houseboy spoke. 

"This thrall touched a master's possessions without permission. This thrall interfered in the business of his masters. Punishment as follows: the mistress calls for three stripes."

A murmur broke out in the small crowd attending. Jensen blocked it out. All he could think was _three stripes._ Three stripes with the whip across his naked back and Master Patrick had never once even cracked his knuckles. He'd been beaten before--a wide leather strap across his legs, spanked on the soles of his feet with a broad flogger and that had made him cry, so much. He'd been slapped, pinched, and had his ear twisted. But he'd never bled, and he'd never been beaten with something made to punish a grown man….

This, this was something—

Fire and ice and glass and knives ripped through his shoulder. It took his breath away and if he hadn’t been chained he'd have been face down on the ground. 

His lungs unlocked a fraction enough for him to start to draw breath and—

The knives ripped at him, claws tore him, the pain made his ribs expand and expand and kerosene was poured on the flames that wouldn't go out. 

He threw his head back, as far as he could and scraped his cheek open against the rough wood and didn’t notice at all because a sword was being pulled through his back and his lungs were being crushed.

There was some noise at the edge of his hearing. His throat hurt. There was water but he threw it up. He was being jostled and his body screamed with each movement and then, the sun finally went out.

* * *

The next few days, Jensen was smothered under a hot blanket of pain. A physician licensed to treat thralls came a few times to examine Jensen. Jensen would have healed faster, but the physician had been paid to test a new healing cream, plus a newly developed pain-killer. Neither worked to specifications, so Jensen was in quite a lot of pain, and terribly nauseous as well. He was finally allowed a common pain killer when he had a brief episode of seizures. Mistress was very angry, especially when she found that the cream was useless and Jensen's back was a mass of puss-filled welts.

Mistress was angry. Perhaps spurred on by Jared crying for his playmate, or the physic attempting to profit from her property, she sent her own physician in to Jensen. Before the thralls had even finished buzzing about that, she assigned a roomgirl to Jensen's tiny cubby of a room, part of whose job was to clean Jensen's back and to keep an eye on him. It was from her Jensen learned the physician had lost his license. It didn't mean that he was barred from treating thralls; unlicensed physics often treated the thralls of less well-to-do masters, and often worked with the knick-knack men. It did mean he'd lost a certain amount of income, so it was punishment in a way.

Jensen also found that his status in the household had shifted—where before he'd been barely tolerated as an outsider of suspect character, now he belonged to them all.

* * *

The first day that Jensen could actually move and his fever dropped, the roomgirl brought him a bowl of ice-cream, along with a few thin crisp cookies that looked like lace—approved by the chain of command, he was assured.

The roomgirl, Annie, shared the ice cream and a bit of gossip with him. She sat on the end of his cot, and dug her finger into the bowl alongside his. 

"It had to be done, you did the right thing, just the way you should, Jennie, but of course it was still defiance. Everyone knows that the stripes were symbolic, but they satisfied the law." Annie said, "You're a good boy; I bet your mam would be so proud of you."

Jensen lay on his belly and scooped up bits of ice cream and nibbled at his cookies while he tried to hold back tears. So those stripes were symbolic, were they? All well and good, but his back was still weeping, and the pain was still like fire. At least he knew the size of his world now; he understood right down to the bone what it was to be thrall.

* * *

A few days after Jensen could stand comfortably again, Master Padalecki was gone to the seashore, and it felt like the House drew a collective breath of relief.

Jensen was surprised that the Padalecki family actually had some small connection to the seas—it seemed that mistress spent her childhood summers near the sea. She had her own home there. She was the one who'd brought the money and land into union, and Master had taken her family name as there were no male Padaleckis to continue the line—a trade the masters in this part of the Land often made. Jensen learned all this in the kitchen—the roomgirls, the cook's assistants, the trayboys—they all whispered. Jen wondered sometimes if the masters actually realized just how much of their personal business their thralls knew. When stories flew, Jensen always kept silent, only nodding or lifting an eyebrow in response. 

In fact, at the moment he was raising eyebrows and biting his lips to keep from laughing as Annie oh-so quietly spun Fool Master stories. The awakening sun washed Annie in its golden light and woke up all lovely shades of brown in her skin. Jensen grimaced, thinking of the fresh crop of flecks soon to be all over his skin. The sun would never be as kind to him as it was to Annie. She patted his hand as if she'd read his mind and Jensen blushed, blushed harder when she giggled.

They'd just turned down the bedding to air in the Mistress' room, opened all the windows to sun and air. The roomgirl swept the bedroom porch, and Jensen followed, with his little pan and bucket, collecting the debris that gathered in the corners—a job 'Maid decided was within his abilities as he healed. 

A rotapede rolled past the porch, driven by a free woman with a messenger bag on her shoulder. She waved to them, surprising them both to be noticed. They waved back and the horn on her 'pede honked a little tune that made them both laugh. 

How wonderful it must be to have such freedom, Jen thought. Just roll away, roll away, without a thought. 

A bell rang through the house, startling both of them. Time had flown—it was time for the roomgirl to tend to the main rooms, and time for Jensen to tend to Jared.

* * *

It was his first day back in the nursery and to celebrate being reunited, Jared was in an exceptional mood. He refused his breakfast, fought Jensen over dressing, threw his toys, stopping only when one of the little metal clockworks opened a cut on Jensen's chin. The blood ran fast and thick, like superficial cuts sometimes did, but coming so soon on the heels of being striped, Jensen froze. He went white as a ghost, shaking all over. Felt like he was falling and falling without ever quite hitting the ground. He almost didn’t hear Jared screaming his name, crying and apologizing at once.

* * *

He blinked shadows out of his eyes. Jensen was surprised that he was sitting on the floor, a pillow behind his back, Jared in his lap. His shirtfront was damp and probably permanently wrinkled with how tight Jared was gripping it in his small fists.

Jensen assured Jared that he was fine, that everything was all right, that they didn’t need to say a word to masterMaid or masterHouseboy, and especially not a word to his momma, though Jensen was more afraid of being punished for letting Jared get to such a state, than worrying whether Jared would get a talking to for damaging his mother's property. Jared swore on his little heart to never hurt Jensen again and Jen couldn't help it—he hugged the boy and dropped kisses on his head until he quieted. 

At dinner that evening, standing behind Jared's chair, he caught Mistress Padalecki's eye. He swallowed, well aware the bit of bloodstop on his chin was a paler patch on his skin. She flicked her eyes from Jared to Jensen and frowned, but at that moment, the trayboys came, and Jensen was quick to serve Jared his first course.

* * *

"Jensem, are you angry with me for hurting you?"

"Of course not, Jared. I could never be angry with you." Jensen arranged the pillows so that Jared was better supported. The light summer covers were drawn up to his chin and a small lamp cast a cozy glow over the room, over the book Jensen held in his hands, a favorite of Jared's he read to him nearly every night.

"Good, I hate for you to be mad," he said, as if Jensen had ever demonstrated any kind of temper at all. 

Jensen smiled, a smile that faltered slightly when he noticed that all Jared's clockwork toys were gone from their shelf—the only items still in their spots were his books and stuffed animals and wooden toys. He made himself a reminder to ask masterMaid if Jared's toys could be replaced—no doubt she'd rescued them from whatever bin Master Jared threw them in. He was a dramatic young thing. He glanced over to find Jared staring at him, seemingly fascinated. After a long, silent minute, Jared spoke. "Mother says you have to do whatever I ask, but I'm not to ask you to do ridiculous things. Is that true, Jensem, you _have_ to do what I ask?" 

Jared fixed him with a wide-eyed stare, and Jensen shivered just a bit…reminded of his mam and how when she shivered, she'd say "A goose must have walked over my grave." 

"Everything Mistress says is true, Master. Would you like me to read this story to you now?"

"Yes," Jared nodded, his expression so serious. He poked Jensen in the arm and said, "Don’t call me master. Call me Jared."

"Of course, Jared…" they settled, Jensen on the edge of the bed, Jared on his pile of pillows, his head rolling to rest on Jensen's shoulder."All right then… _Once upon a time in Espania, there was a little bull and his name was…."_

_(stolen and warped line from The Story of Ferdinand  
by Munro Leaf)_


End file.
